


Joke's on you, pal

by DauntlessSubconscious



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: A hybrid of coffee shop and college AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Ben Solo needs to start understanding people, F/M, Maybe - Freeform, Poe Dameron is an irredeemable joker, Rey wants her revenge, This also may qualify as fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6768064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DauntlessSubconscious/pseuds/DauntlessSubconscious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fact n. 1: Poe Dameron's pranks are legendary.<br/>Fact n. 2: Rey had never thought of herself as vindictive before.<br/>Fact n. 3: Ben needs to stop brooding and put his mind to better uses, because when he does, great things happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there!  
> This is my answer to a [challenge](http://ms-qualia.tumblr.com/post/141491931339/reylo-obsession-challenge) born in the Reylo chat that we have every Friday night (we actually are a multishipper chat, all ships are welcomed, feel free to stop by!). 
> 
> The prompt: Rey and Kylo share a mutual obsession over something, but that cannot be each other.
> 
> Hopefully, I did it some justice :)
> 
> A huge thanks to my wonderful beta, [rachel_greatest](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rachel_greatest/pseuds/rachel_greatest), who helped me all the way through this and fixed my dreadful verbs. She also wrote for this challenge and her fic is amazing, go check it out!

Rey doesn't have an aversion to philosophy _per se_ , but she's always preferred to contemplate life from a less reflective point of view. _Where do we come from, where are we going, why are we here, how…_ Those are questions the foster system wasn't keen on answering and she simply stopped asking them; opting instead for a pragmatic approach most of the time. This morning, however, she finds herself fairly tempted to reconsider every turn of the road, every moment that has lead her here, to this little college dorm where alarm clocks seem to have multiplied overnight with a rate of reproduction she has only related to rabbits before; and she idly wonders _why_.

 

She's a good person, she really is. She recycles and rides either her bike or the public transport, always mindful of the environment—and her wallet. She's polite to people, she works hard tutoring other students in order to support herself. She visits her newly found grandfather as often as she can, since they only have each other. Rey just doesn't get it.

 

What has she done to deserve this?

 

Finals had wrecked her, physical and emotionally, but the insane amount of exams were a means to an end: the sooner she could be done with her degree, the better. She had plans for an Astrophysics major, part of a carefully laid out future she'd imagined since childhood, and sacrifices were to be made if she truly wanted to achieve her goals.

 

Last night, after a month and a half of endless study and social isolation, she hung out a bit with the guys because she couldn't deny she'd missed them; yet the whole time, she'd been silently craving sleep like a sloth. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she'd passed out.

 

She was having a wonderful dream about stars and space travel when loud shrills started to mingle with the images of galaxies far away that her mind had concocted, and it took her a few moments to figure out that those noises were coming from the real world. Her hand connected with the clock on her nightstand with practised accuracy, silencing the devilish device; but that didn't make it stop. Gingerly, she opened her eyes and scanned the room for the source. There, over her drawer chest there was a strange, unfamiliar alarm clock. She got up, the chill of the winter morning raising goosebumps over her arms and legs, and hastily turned the damn thing off. She didn't make it back to the bed though, because before she could turn, an even more annoying tune had started. It came from her closet this time.

 

Now—half an hour later—, she's in the middle of her room, asking herself those inane questions, the baseball bat Finn gave her— _'cause you gotta hold your own, Rey_ —in hand and at least a dozen destroyed alarm clocks littering the floor. Honestly, whoever did this must be good at scavenger hunts, because she can't fathom how this individual managed to find so many hiding spots in such a sparse place. Her chest heaves, and the adrenaline pumping through her veins works wonders in her tired muscles. But that also means she can't go back to bed this hyped. Well, _fuck_ …

 

She pays no attention to the grey skies that promise snow; as soon as she has a suspect in mind she becomes a woman in a mission. She ventures outside and crosses the desolate campus, striding towards one of her favourite places, a small coffee shop where her friends do some shifts in order to keep their heads above the water. She's come to love the warm feeling the wood-covered walls give her and the intense smell of fresh brew coffee that makes her mouth water, but now all she cares about is finding the one responsible for this and making him pay.

 

She stomps her boots a couple of times to shake the snow off before barrelling in with a deep seated scowl.

 

“Dameron!” She all but shouts. “Where is he?” She asks Finn when his head pops up from a corner.

 

“Whoa, whoa, take it easy,” Finn's hands rise in a defensive stance. “He's not here yet. What's going on?”

 

She clenches her fists, her nails marking the palms of her hands. “I'll tell you what's going on, alright—”

 

The bell attached to the door sings and a chill of freezing wind hits the back of her neck. Right on cue and as if he was a movie star being called to set, Poe Dameron himself makes his entrance, unbuttoning his wool coat in a few swift, graceful moves.

 

“You're dead, Dameron,” she says in a low rumble and he recognizes the murderous glint in her eyes, a telltale sign that she's seriously pissed.

 

“Rey, _darling_ ,” and he's grabbing her shoulders in a soothing manner, charming smile already on, “if blood must run, may I ask why?”

 

 _Bloody bastard_. Yeah, he's her friend and she loves him to death, but he and his prankster vein stepped way out of the line this time.

 

Admittedly, Poe's jokes are usually funny and she'll go as far as saying he's equally inventive at creating a prank as he is at getting out of the consequences of said prank unscathed. Legions of students will grace their grandchildren with the story of how Poe, in his freshman year, hid and opened helium tanks in the dean's office and how the stern, old man's voice sounded like a tame version of a Disney princess; or about that season when 'that Dameron kid' got into the habit of quoting _Lord of the Rings_ in Ancient History class, because elves and hobbits sounded more logical than any greek or roman god story, according to him.

 

She owes him a lot of good laughs, but right now, he's owing her a few more hours of sleep.

 

“Thirteen alarm clocks,” she extracts one of them from her pocket—or rather, its remains“set to go off within minutes between them...” She squeezes the pieces of plastic in front of his face. “Really, Poe? Really?!”

 

A chuckle breaks the moment and both Poe and Rey stare at its owner. Ben Solo, Poe's friend since childhood and sidekick extraordinaire, isn't laughing anymore but his eyes remain amused. Rey chooses to ignore the man, who she's learned to be insufferable up to challenging levels.

 

“Shut the door, will you? Heat isn't cheap,” Finn orders from behind the counter and Rey spies from the corner of her eye that he does as told, but her stare remains trained on Poe.

 

“Sweetie, you need to chill,” and before she can protest, Poe raises his index finger, silencing her. “You're too wound up with those finals and you do tend to be on the stiffer side of socialization.”

 

“Honest, Poe, is an apology that hard to get out of you?” There's no shortage of annoyance in her words and the sigh that follows.

 

“I'm gonna do better than that, hun,” he says with his chin up and Rey can tell he's utterly proud of the idea he's about to share. “The Chem psychos that run that YouTube channel about fun science are throwing a party 'cause apparently one hundred-kay followers is a big deal these days.”

 

“Those guys are great!” Finn offers with a wide grin. “Did you know you can make a bomb with a plastic bottle, vinegar and some baking soda?” He sounds so excited and wistful in equal parts that Rey begins to wonder if Poe is spending too much time with him.

 

Rey groans, she's so not in the mood for any of it—the people cramping the place, the Nietzsche wannabes choking on big words in hopes of sounding interesting, the awful booze and the effect of it when mixed with college students' libidos—but she knows Finn like the back of her hand. He'll definitely want to be there and of course he'll drag her along. A sigh heavy with the recognition of inevitabilities escapes her, her anger reigniting because, deep down, she knows Poe's right. She needs to get out more.

 

She rolls her eyes nonetheless, preferring to be childish about it, and heads for the door, already deciding to spend the rest of the day buried deep under her covers watching lame movies. She nearly slams herself against Solo's ridiculously broad chest in her way out, and Rey is forced to stop sharply. There's faint surprise painted on his face when she looks up, but he schools his expression quickly and moves away, letting her pass.

 

She hears Finn's voice again as she sets a foot outside. “I'll pick you up at ten!”

 

The burger she has for lunch sits heavy on her stomach and the warmth of the bed betrays her. Rey falls asleep roughly around the middle of “The First Wives Club,” the remote sliding from her hand and landing with a thump on the floor that she doesn't register. When she all but jumps from the bed, not only have hours passed, but it's already dark outside. Fighting the haze of sleep, she fumbles for her phone, finding out it's 9:17 PM.

Maybe she should hurry in her way to the shower, since Finn will be knocking on her door soon. Maybe she should put a little more effort into her hair and makeup. Maybe she should be a bit more excited about her finals being done and being free to spend time with her friends.

 

But Poe's joke ruined her morning and an awful awakening is her kryptonite, she can't help but feel grumpy and hateful towards the world in general right now. That's why she takes her time in the shower and proceeds to leave her hair down, letting it curl on it's own. That's why she doesn't bother with much more than eyeliner and that’s why her old, black Converse, faded AC/DC tee and jeans sound amazing.

 

Finn raises his eyebrows when she opens her dorm door, studying her outfit with way too much care.

 

“What?” He knows she's not asking for an answer, but she's actually challenging him to make a single comment and—

 

“You're not even trying.” He says anyway and seems amused by her aloofness.

 

“This isn't the opening night of Swan Lake, Finn,” she says while picking up a jacket and checking for her phone and keys. “We're going to a geeky college party. For all I know, I'm overdressed.”

 

She's reticent at first, but when they turn around the corner, she's thankful for Finn's contagious laugh.

 

The party is pretty much what she expected, the music is almost decent, the beer isn't warm and she finds herself thinking that this could be worse. The place is large and Rey is thankful, since she can walk without bumping people. There're “100k” balloons and banners hanging from the walls, the silliness of it makes her smile and shake her head. She's handed a red cup by Finn and he spots one of the guys in charge of the YouTube channel. She tags along and tries to hide a smirk while Finn turns into a hopeless fanboy in a fraction of a second. The conversation is not really her thing—she isn't in the mood for discussing exothermic reactions—so she wanders off on her own, surfing through the growing masses of people. She sees Poe from afar, joking around with the guys from the football team; trust Poe to get along with anyone. Predictably, she winds up alone at the edge of the party, a silent spectator while people dance to the rhythmic beat of the music and talk loudly. This is familiar, easy. Rey knows how to blend in with the walls, she spent her entire childhood doing that. She nurses her beer, taking small sips while her mind strays through the memories of foster homes and new families every few months.

 

She's so lost in thought that she nearly jumps when a hand touches her shoulder. She turns around to find Brendan Hux's inquisitive, pale blue eyes staring at her. She's had the _pleasure_ of sharing a few classes with him in the past. He's brilliant in Theoretical Physics, a mind to be envied when it comes to solving equations; but for all his academic achievements, he seriously lacks a moral compass. She's heard the rumours, the comments that people unlucky enough to be partners with Hux had let slide. He's ruthless and won't hesitate to cut someone he deems as unproductive from his team. He disregards all except his goals, and he doesn’t care if he has to step onto a million heads to fulfill them.

 

“Rey.” Something about the way this guy says her name always makes her uncomfortable. “Didn't imagine you'd know the Chem freaks.”

 

“I don't. Poe invited me.”

 

“Ah, Dameron.” His smile drips condescencion. “Our resident Joker.”

 

“Don't I know about it...”

 

It's only a sigh born from resignation, no more than an out-loud thought meant only for her ears; but he must've heard her, because there's a new glint in his eyes.

 

“Well, if revenge is what you need, I believe I can help with that,” he says as he reaches for his pack of smokes to light one with practised ease.

 

Rey is not sure what to say. She wants to teach Poe a lesson, sure; but asking this guy's assistance would've never crossed her mind, and she believes Hux is smart enough to come up with that guess himself—they're not friends. Plus, since when does Hux help people? He must be getting something out of it as well. He seems a little too interested—maybe that's why he's offering. She's gaping like a fish out of water when a deep voice from behind startles her.

 

“Hux.”

 

Annoyed, since today everyone seems to be plotting to take her by surprise, she turns around only to narrow her eyes at a stoic Ben Solo, who's apparently too busy scowling at Hux to even glance her way. The redhead is amused and holds Ben's gaze as he takes a slow drag of his cigarette. Rey is convinced that some strange, silent battle is currently happening. She's just about ready to flee the scene when Hux speaks again.

 

“Let me know, Rey,” he says with a side smirk, staring at Ben for another moment before looking at her. “See ya around.”

 

Nothing about the ginger sits well in her, but she nods out of politeness. She thinks she hears Ben mutter a “fucker”, but she can't be sure. Rey crosses her arms, remembering her irritation with Ben; but in all honesty, she can't exactly say why. Ben Solo is weird and he makes her feel weird by extension. She's perpetually frowning when sharing a moment with this man; his unpredictability rivals with what she believes humanly possible.

 

“What?” He says all of a sudden and she realizes she's staring. Rey quickly lowers her eyes and tries to hide her blush in her beer cup, grimacing when the now warm amber liquid reaches her mouth.

 

She hears him laugh and it should bother her, since she's the source of his mirth, but she can't, not really. She rolls her eyes all the same—because appearances must be maintained—but gestures with her head for him to follow her nonetheless. When they reach the kitchen, Ben settles by the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, amusement still playing on his face, and watches Rey scavenge the place for a cool beer. She tries to ignore his gaze and favours her search. However, luck hasn't been on Rey's side for a long time and this is no exception.

 

“There's no more beer,” she says, astonishment marring her features.

 

Ben frowns in disbelief. “No way...” He's ready to make a quick search of his own but Rey stops him with a hand on his forearm, shaking her head, a nonverbal _‘don’t bother’_. Ben remains silent for a moment, staring hard at her hand and he removes his arm from her touch. “Whaddaya know...” he says after clearing his throat, “these undergrads actually are heavy drinkers. That or they miscalculated horribly.”

 

Rey scoffs. “Oh, sorry Mr. PhD,” she mocks and bends slightly imitating a reverence. “Forgive these mere commoners for not asking your advice given your extensive partying experience.” Ben makes a face but her sarcastic expression doesn't relent. Her eyes sidetrack from his, though, widening to comical proportions. “Oh, jackpot!”

 

Ben turns and looks up as well and yes, up there, over the highest shelf, there's a glass bottle half full with clear liquid.

 

“Can you reach?”

 

He stretches but there's still several inches to go. “No...it's too high. That's why it survived so far, I think.”

 

Rey nods absentmindedly, her eyes never leaving her prize. She suddenly claps her hands together in preparation and Ben stares at her, a bit confused. “C'mon, old man. Help me up so I can grab it!”

 

He shakes his head, as if he can't believe he's actually agreeing to this... A moment later, she's up on his shoulders and his hands hold her thighs firmly. “Get closer, Solo,” she says and he looks up, directly into her eyes and she has to take a deep breath before making herself clear, “to the counter.”

 

She strains her arm and nudges the bottle little by little until she can wrap her fingers around its neck. When he sets her down on the floor, she's beaming with the success of a job well done and turns to exit the kitchen. Holding two cups, he follows. Rey leads them to the backyard of the house; she actually welcomes the cold over her fiery cheeks as the windows reverberate with the music and the people inside remain oblivious to her need for fresh air. They sit side by side on the steps of the wooden stair and she breathes deep, her eyes closed and a faint smile curving her lips. She hands him the bottle and after eyeing the label, Ben concentrates on pouring a drink for both of them. She accepts the plastic cup and downs its contents in one gulp under his not-so-subtle scrutiny. Vodka, she idly thinks as his piercing stare burns hotter than the tasteless alcohol. After filling her cup again, he takes a sip of his and out of the corner of her eye she sees him grimace at the taste. The silence lingers, yet it's not an uncomfortable one. She is at ease, and he appears to be too. It's a strange combination of being more aware of him than she cares to admit, and the comfort of his company. She frowns. The strangeness of the situation doesn't escape her meandering thoughts.

 

This is Ben Solo, loner as they come. She knows Poe is the only friend he has because his usual demeanor shoos most people away. She's seen him walking the hallways of the Physics Department, perpetual scowl plastered on his face, icy stare to go with it, and long, imposing strides. She can't blame the rest of the world for not wanting to engage, because if his normal self presents like that, his humorous side qualifies as a human repellent. She knows he is mostly sneers and sarcasm, witty remarks and cynical responses. She doesn't mind if other people have strange sense of humor—it's a free country and all that—but there's something else about Solo. She can't put quite a name to it, but it's a feeling that makes her narrow her eyes every time he talks to her.

 

“Black suits you,” he says in an odd way, like he's commenting on how much he hates to wait in lines; trying to hide a small smile with his cup. The tone of his voice clashes with the spoken words and the novelty of seeing him smile—not just smirking like he usually does, the jerk—has strange effects on her heartbeat. Rey can't help but frown because it sounds dangerously like a compliment, and Ben Solo doesn't compliment, not to her, at least. But then again, how does she know? They share friends, yes, but that's pretty much it. He is usually quiet around her, but she can tell he's always observing, studying. That might be a strange thing to know—it’s not like she’s keeping tabs on him—but she does let her curiosity win and stares back when he thinks no one is watching. It's an ill timed realization, she admits, but now she can explain why she knows. She sees that tough exterior, the strong, aloof façade; she recognizes he can manage to be blunt and crass, but also considerate and gentle just as easily.

 

She doesn't get this iteration of him and that unnerves her, it puts her on edge to stare into his deep eyes, because she _sees_ but can't _understand_.

 

“Thanks.”

 

It's barely audible and she shields herself with her cup too as the vodka sears a trail down her throat.

 

“What did that ginger nazi want, anyway?”

 

The question takes her by surprise, but not as much as his tone does. The little playfulness sneaking in his voice is gone, replaced by something akin to anger. She shrugs, trying to fight the uneasiness simmering in her chest...

 

“He said he'd help me to get back at Poe.” The words sound awfully wrong as they roll out of her mouth and his expression says everything: _I thought you knew better than that_. She suddenly feels extremely guilty, and needs to make herself clear. She knows better—of course she wouldn't trust Hux; not even with the simplest, most innocuous task. She's got instincts, dammit, and would never, ever let a bastard like that redhead hurt any of her friends. But all of that apparently goes unnoticed to Ben Solo and she's enraged by it. She bites her tongue, because she does not need to explain herself to him; but the feeling festers, it swells, filling her chest. “I'm not stupid, y'know.”

 

“Never said you were.” He sounds defensive and looks a bit like a deer caught in the headlights.

 

“You're thinking it.”

 

“I don—”

 

She interrupts him with a glare.

 

Now, _this_ silence is awkward, but at least he has the decency to look sheepish. He sighs after a while, running his fingers through his hair, clearly frustrated about something.

 

“I'm serious, Rey,” and the way he says her name makes her stare hard at those intense eyes of his. “I mean, no one who really knows you could ever think that, you're—you—”

 

He makes a pained noise, something pretty close to a groan; and if Rey had a bit less booze in her system right now, she would notice his reddening ears.

 

She suspects that even if she dared to ask what he means, he wouldn't be able to tell her, so she remains silent and brings her cup to his hands, where the bottle rests in his lax grip.

 

That faint awkwardness remains in the air between them, but the alcohol loosens their tongues with each sip. They're soon laughing for no apparent reason and Rey can't help but nudge his shoulder everytime he throws a witty remark.

 

“So, you really wanna get back at Poe?”

 

His question comes out of nowhere, but she's enjoying her buzz way too much to start wondering about intentions. She tries to hide her conniving grin behind her lip biting, failing. A very similar version of it gleams over his face.

 

“What do you have in mind?” She asks, her curiosity getting the best of her.

 

“Right now?” Rey's eyes are intent on his face, so she can tell when his gaze lowers to her lips. He looks up again, his expression unchanged and she feels a rush of shivers down her spine. He looks positively villainous and she shudders at the surge of pure heat coursing through her body.

 

She doesn't protest when he misreads it and offers her his jacket, thinking she's cold. He seems to sober up when the frigid air hit his bare arms, because his eyes stray from her, fixing on the now empty bottle, and she feels her lungs filling with much needed air. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath.

 

“C'mon, I'll walk you home,” he says as he gets up, brushing his hands on his jeans and Rey wonders if she's the cause of his nervousness.

 

The party rages on inside, there's even more people now and the music isn't so chill anymore. People dance to the beat of some electronic marvel she can't say she knows and she leaves gladly since this isn't her scene. They wave at Poe while heading out and he waves back with an arched brow in silent question, though he doesn't try to get near them and ask. Rey can't honestly say she cares all that much at this moment, with Ben's hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd towards the door.

 

They tread carefully though the frozen paths and when his arm goes over her shoulders, she tries to convince herself it's only for warmth and support. She holds his waist in return. The icy sidewalk finally gives way to her building and she sighs in relief, the warm air feels like a balm on her cheeks. He finds his voice again somewhere between the first and the second turn they make through the hallways, throwing snarky comments about the abundance of glittery name tags on the doors. She attempts to shush him, but he's completely unfazed by her qualms.

 

Her door is the next one and she smiles as she sees the awkwardness is taking hold of him again. She's thinking these episodes of embarrassment make him rather endearing when he pulls a hasty retreat after a few mumbled words of having a long day tomorrow. Tomorrow's Sunday, she knows, and so does he; but she doesn't comment on it, she only smiles wider and shakes her head while watching that broad back and mess of dark locks disappearing behind a corner.

 

She falls onto her bed, only managing to get rid of her shoes before exhaustion claims her. Her mind doesn't register it, but with her last sliver of consciousness, a content, little sigh escapes her as she nuzzles his jacket.


	2. Chapter 2

 

He wakes up and opens his eyes slowly, grimacing against the grey glare coming from the window. It’s raining heavily and he lingers in bed for a bit longer while his fingers run across the long strands of his mussed hair. The sound of the water on his window tries to lull him back to sleep, but it’s too late. His mind is already occupied by her—something of a constant these days—, images of the night before travelling through his mind; and who is he kidding, she owns his dreams too.  

 

The windowpanes tremble with the sound waves of thunder and he sighs thinking about the association he has between her and storms. Honestly, he doesn’t need any external stimuli to be reminded of her, but maybe he does require a little push in order to achieve the opposite, so he shakes his head and sits in a feeble attempt to banish her from his thoughts. He quickly realizes this is a bad idea; because as soon as his feet are on the ground, the world spins around him and his head pounds as if his brain had developed its own beating heart during the night.

 

He ought to know by now when to say 'no.’ He's a big boy, he's had his fair share of college craziness and he'd love to think that at this point of his life, he should know better than to drink cheap vodka. Then again, denying something to Rey, especially when she'd seemed so determined, isn't something he would consider doable. The cheaper whisky he'd had to top the evening off once he'd gotten home could be taken as a necessary evil, an effort to calm his antics after the havoc she’d caused in him with her stares and smiles. Realistically, he knows he's overreacting, they’d just shared a few drinks as friends and made small talk. There’s no need to get jumpy because  _ nothing happened _ , he thinks sourly. 

 

He groans, feeling like an idiot, or rather recognizing himself as one. He’s closer to thirty than he is to twenty, but somehow Rey makes him feel as if he’s an awkward sixteen-year-old boy who’s just discovering the pros and cons of hormone-induced behaviour. He’d been so sure that she couldn’t stand him that being around her had seemed like rowing against the current. He’d tried to mend the situation, more than once, but every attempt had backfired; and that’s why he’d stopped trying after the misunderstandings started to accumulate. But after last night, he doesn’t really know what to think.

 

Poe—arms crossed over his chest, eyes slightly narrowed—leans against the bathroom doorframe, fully aware he’s in Ben’s way, and if Ben had any strength left, he’d do more than groan.

 

“So? Anything you wanna share?” 

 

Ben knows his reflexes aren’t at their sharpest, but he should’ve seen this coming anyway. Poe has a special talent for sniffing into other people’s business and he saw them last night leaving together, when any occassion they weren’t snarling to each other seemed strange enough to make their friends frown.

 

“I’m too hungover to play twenty questions.” 

 

It’s barely more than a bark, a fair warning for Poe to back off; but he knows Poe won’t, just like he knows he can’t stop the annoyance that the knowledge fills him with. If he’s being honest with himself, the aftermath of the vodka-of-dubious-origins isn’t what’s fueling his bad mood, no; it runs deeper than that. 

 

Until yesterday, he would’ve defined all of his interactions with Rey as dry and cynical on good days. On bad days, they could barely stand sharing the same space and any bait, no matter how small, could and would be misinterpreted, rapidly escalating to heated discussions. Yeah, he preferred to forget those days. But even then there was a frame of reference for him, the predictability of it forging a steady path for him to walk; his own copy of “Rey for Dummies”. 

 

After last night, though, he isn’t sure of anything except his feelings; because if that little alcohol-induced social experiment worked for something, it was to cement the fact that he’s head over heels for her. Coincidentally enough, it also turned his world upside down. Suddenly, he isn’t certain she loathes him, because she’d smiled with the brightness of a thousand suns and it was meant for him. Perhaps, if he can trust in the warmth of her eyes, she doesn’t wish him a horrible death for being an  _ irredeemable asshole _ . Maybe, there’s way more to Rey than he’d originally thought. And now, the doubts about how she truly feels—and not how his mind would imagine she does—are slowly eating him alive. His bewildered mind can’t make peace between both versions of Rey, the aloof girl from before, who seemed to save her most callous words for him alone, and the still snarky, yet somehow playful woman from the party.

 

And here is his friend, asking for explanations…

 

How can he explain something he doesn’t understand himself?

 

Ben runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, squeezing his way into the bathroom. He’s in dire need of a shower. The muscles of his back are coiled in knots and his head is still doing a number on him.

 

Poe surprises him a few moments later by handing him a pill for the headache and a large glass of water that he downs in no time.

 

“Last chance for sharing those thoughts,” Poe says, and while Ben hears the slightly menacing undercurrent in Poe’s voice, he can’t say he actually gives a fuck. He promptly ignores his friend and Poe leaves, shaking his head in faint amusement but granting him some privacy all the same.

 

Ben groans in relief as soon as the hot spray hits his back,  _ and that’s something you should thank your friend for _ , a treacherous voice sings. It had been Poe who scored the apartment with amazing water pressure.

 

Some distant part of his mind absently registers his friend’s noises as he moves through the bathroom, but he can only manage to focus on extinguishing the throbbing in his head.

 

When he exits the shower, he realizes he hasn’t brought any fresh clothes from his bedroom, so he just wraps himself in a towel and brushes his teeth to hopefully assuage the bitterness that may or may not be one-hundred percent due to the booze. 

 

He’s about to reach for the closet’s door handle when he notices his hair blow dryer is already on the counter and he can’t help but frown, because given how much Poe had teased him when he got it, Ben can’t exactly picture the man using it. He’s already plotting a thousand ways to annoy his friend—a small retribution to the actual pain-in-the-ass Poe can be—when he hits the ignite button and all hell breaks loose.

 

Ben suddenly can’t breathe. There’s a dryness spreading from his mouth and nose all the way though his throat, and further too; his eyes get watery almost instantly in defense of the strange, irritating substance as he coughs several times. His whole head and torso are buried deep within an oppressive, white cloud that slightly smells like… a baby? His eyes finally manage to stay open for more than a second and then—he sees the bottle. He stares at the offending container with undisguised contempt, the pale lilac of the lid mocking his previously clean hair, now covered in baby powder.

 

There’s a few seconds of confusion while his brain is trying to reconcile what is actually going on, and then he hears the muffled chuckles coming from the door and the distinct  _ click _ of a camera taking a picture. When he turns, Poe’s already gone. Ben’s mind finally decides on blind rage and he exits the bathroom with forceful moves, in search of the perpetrator, dusty specks of powder falling from his chest with each step.

 

Ben reaches the living room and sure enough there’s Poe, shoving his belongings into a worn leather satchel. “I’m gonna kill you and I’m not even gonna feel bad about it,” Ben says in an eerily calm voice that would have anyone else shaking like a leaf.

 

Poe looks at his friend and starts laughing like a madman at the sight. “No, you won’t,” he says between chuckles as his hand clutches his stomach, “‘cause Casper is a friendly ghost…”

 

“That’s it, Dameron.” The finality of the statement isn’t lost to Poe, because he knows his friend and recognizes the dangerous glint in Ben’s eyes.

 

Unluckily for Ben, Poe has always had way better reflexes than himself, and that’s why, as Ben is barely processing that someone just knocked their front door, Poe is already there opening it in complete disregard for Ben’s current state of undress and  _ whiteness _ .

 

Ben idly wonders who has he wronged so badly to deserve this on top of all the issues he’s currently dealing with.  _ It can always get worse, kid _ , his father had said a long time ago and despite the fact he almost never agrees with Han, he has to give his old man credit for being right about that; because standing there, at the entry of the apartment is a very confused Rey, staring between both men and frowning hard.

 

“Oh,  _ fuck _ ,” he mutters and the curse gets muffled by Poe’s instant laugh.

 

“Come in, Peanut.” Finn’s the author of that word of endearment and taking into account all the time Poe spends with the man, it isn’t really a surprise for these things to stick. “There’s fresh coffee in the pot, help yourself. This gorgeous man needs to run some errands,” he says while grabbing his satchel and with a peck on Rey’s cheek, Dameron disappears from the place.

 

Of course, the uncomfortable silence sits heavy in the room, that is, until an uncontrollable giggle escapes her.

 

“Let me guess…Poe.” She bites her lip, a poor attempt to hide her smile and he’s almost wishing for her to laugh out loud instead, since the sight does strange things to his breathing frequency. Maybe he ought to thank Poe, at least she can’t see his reddening ears through the thick coat of baby powder.

 

He would gladly answer if he had the ability to do so, but the weight of the hangover combined with this absolutely embarrassing experience is too much, so he retreats to the bathroom to take a second shower, wishing his brain could shut off for the day.

 

Ben knows she’s still in the apartment as he gets dressed since he hears her half sing, half hum a Creedence song along with cutlery noises. Barefoot—he can’t handle shoelaces right now—he pads to the kitchen to find a mug of black coffee and a plate with pancakes waiting for him.

 

“Eat,” she says as she dries her hands and takes her own cup, sitting on the other side of the table. “You look like shit.”

 

“Gee, thanks.” It’s almost a growl, but he sits all the same and takes a few sips of the coffee. As its warmth spreads through his body, he can’t help but notice her gaze burning him like a brand. She’s not being subtle at all.

 

He stares back, as if this were a battle of wills where the one who blinks first loses the match. There’s determination in her eyes and an underlying intensity as she roams his face. He can’t be sure...but if she’s looking for something in his expression, she finds it, because she simply smiles and points at his food.

 

He wants to ask, but he chooses not to, taking one bite instead—and holy crap, this girl can’t cook, like, at all. He struggles to keep the grimace off his face, swallowing the god-awful pancakes with effort and blaming his stomach for not being able to finish them.

 

They establish a sort of companionable silence while the rain hits hard against the windows in relentless bouts; the familiarity of the moment causing his mind to drift to another rainy day, one he revisits very often now. If he had to choose a moment when she stopped being his roommate’s friend, the girl Poe had met waiting in line in a bookstore, and turned into something else, it would be that afternoon.

 

_ He’d come home feeling like a piece of shit after arguing with his father. Arguments with Han weren’t few or far in between, but this one had been particularly offensive. Crass, hurtful things had been said on both sides and he’d just wanted to forget about it, the anger urging him to erase his father from his life. These fights drained him and left him reeling with rage at the same time, an impossible combination that ended with him inevitably destroying something. He’d entered his home, slamming the front door against its frame and the pictures on the wall rattled as he cursed, cursed and cursed some more. He was drenched, since the threatening clouds had fulfilled their promise and turned into a downpour when he was a few blocks away from the apartment he shared with Poe. Shedding his soaking coat, he turned, only to meet Rey’s big, doe eyes staring at him intently. Curiosity and wariness whirled in the hazel of her irises and for a moment he lost himself in there, wondering why hadn’t he noticed their color before. _

 

_ “What’re you doing here?” he’d said in an irate voice that had her flinching in her seat. She’d recovered in no time and glared at him, but he calmed his tone all the same. “Where’s Poe?” _

 

_ She’d studied him for another moment before answering. “He said he needed something from the store, he should be back in any minute.” _

 

_ “Not in this storm, he isn’t,” he’d muttered as he stomped all the way to his bedroom in the search for dry clothes. _

 

_ Lightning crackled in the sky and the roar of thunder was pretty much instantaneous. That was near. He hadn’t even been able to finish that thought when the power went off. Of course, he cursed again. He’d finished dressing in the opaque light, occasionally brighter for a few seconds at a time. _

 

_ On his way to the kitchen, he saw she’d lit up some candles. Ben had found her with a flashlight in hand, tweaking with the switches of the electrical box and her eyebrows in a deep frown. _

 

_ “Be careful with that.” He hadn’t been trying to sound harsh but it came out like that anyway.  _

 

_ “The problem isn’t here,” she’d said, and if looks could kill, he would’ve been a dead man in the spot. She walked across the living room, leaning on the windowsill, her right cheek almost pressing against the glass. “The whole block is out of power.” _

 

_ She padded back to the kitchen and typed a text on her phone. The answer was almost instantaneous and she smiled brightly at the written words in front of her. It hit him like a slap on the face. The smile was genuine, gleaming, effortless. It made him jealous of that damn phone and the person on the other side of the line, who most likely was a usual receiver of those smiles. As soon as she looked at him, it faded and he hadn’t been ready for the disappointment that hollowed his chest. _

 

_ “You want some coffee?” Rey had asked, fumbling through the shelves until she found it. Ben thought she must’ve been here a few times before, since she reached for the cups without hesitation. He didn’t mind her in his kitchen, at all. In fact, watching her moving dexterously through the small space made him forget a little about his shitty day and he felt the anger dissipating. _

 

_ “Sure.” _

 

_ She’d placed the steaming cup in front of him before bringing her own. Where had this girl come from? How come he’d never paid attention before?  _

 

_ “Look,” she’d said, lowering her mug to the table. Her eyes bored into his and the fact that she seemed a little self-conscious didn’t deter her from speaking with a firm voice. “I know you don’t want me here, so as soon as it stops pouring, I’ll leave you be.” _

 

_ He’d never wished so hard for a storm to keep raging on. _

 

“Hey, are you okay?”

 

She’s looking at him with her eyebrows in a little frown and her head tilted to the side, as if he’s a puzzle she wishes to put together. Ben is very sure that he has never felt such an insanely strong urge to kiss someone senseless. He’s gripping the edge of the table as if his life depended on it and wondering if sitting over his hands might be a childish move, but he’s in serious danger of giving into his impulses and doing something very stupid here.

 

“Yeah,” he says and nearly jumps from his chair, occupying his hands with the mugs and plates, washing them in forceful, jerky moves.

 

He hears a small sigh behind his back. “Right…” she says and he can hear the soles of her shoes on the hardwood floor, heading away from him. The dishes are done and he sighs too, trailing behind her steps, because that’s what he does, he follows her. It’s her innate gravity, a pull he’s no longer even trying to fight—because, god, he’s failed so many times—and that awakens in him a profound desire for this woman. 

 

“I just wanted to return this, so here.” She extends her arm, his black leather jacket with her hand fisted in it. He takes it, his fingers brushing hers for a instant. 

 

Rey nods to herself snatches her umbrella after securing the buttons of her coat. She’s avoiding his eyes, he can tell. Her hand is already on the silver doorknob when a sense of urgency strikes him. “Rey,” he says, without really knowing what is he asking. For her to stay? To finally ask what this is between them? Or is this just another hollow plea that can only  intensify the infructuous game of wills they like to play? 

 

Still grasping the doorknob, she turns her head to him. She looks resolute, but there’s wariness in her voice. “Can I ask you something?” The question falls from her lips, loaded with exasperation and he merely nods. “Did I do something to you?”

 

_ ‘Yeah, you’re driving me insane in a bizarre, alluring way’ _ opens a huge can of worms, so instead... “What?”

 

“Have I, I don’t know, offended you somehow? ‘Cause everytime we’re together I get the feeling you don’t want me there, Ben. So if you can’t stand me, just say so and I’ll be out of your hair for good.”

 

He can’t help it, he laughs. It surges from the depths of his throat, born from the ridiculousness of this situation, because how in this god forsaken planet can someone as intelligent as she can also be so oblivious to the fact that he’s a moron who doesn’t know how to behave around her. The notion sounds demented to his ears, but he recognizes that if she’s asking, there has to be a reason. He’s a weird guy—she’s said it enough times and he’s inclined to believe her. What if she’s caught in an ocean of doubts just as he is? What if he hasn’t been as obvious as he originally thought? He knows he can’t trust his brain to come up with articulate sentences by now and she’s looking more outraged by the second, so, for once, he chooses to let go. 

 

In a rush of adrenaline, boldness or just plain stupidity, his hand strays across her cheek and the pads of his fingers reach her hair, his face lowering until their noses are almost touching. His eyes roam her face, focusing on her lips and he can hear even the smallest intake of air from her. 

 

It’s not elegant nor poised, the way she crashes her mouth against his, but she’s calling the shots here and he just runs with it. As he always does, he gladly follows. He can hardly process what’s going on, but the fact that his hands find the way to her waist makes him oddly proud of himself. She moans when he pushes her body against his and her arms circle around his neck. Ben only realizes she’s pushing him backwards when his legs bump the couch and he all but plummets down onto the old, ratty thing. In a heartbeat, she’s straddling him, claiming his lips once more.

 

“I guess this means you don’t hate me,” he says with a crooked smile when they finally break the kiss. They’re both panting and through his dazed eyes he spies what he thinks is the most beautiful version of Rey he has seen yet. She’s biting her lower lip, the punishment of her teeth a stark comparison to the timid blush on her cheeks.  _ Oh, yes… _ He will remember this sight. 

 

“No, Solo.” Her hands are holding his face and she kisses him again, just a quick peck on his lips. “Well, not all the time.” Her smile is vicious and he loves it.

 

“Then why did this take so long...” he muses while leaning his forehead against hers.

 

She just shrugs and run her hands through his hair. “I’ve wanted to do this since ever,” she says in a low-pitched voice that he thinks will be fuel to some fantasies. “I’m gonna get back at Poe for trying to ruin your hair.”

 

Her declaration is made in all seriousness and he tries to keep a straight face while he feigns pondering on it. In a sudden move that has her yelping, he rises from the couch, his hands holding the back of her thighs. There’s no way he’s letting her go.

 

Her ankles lock behind the small of his back. “Where’re we going?”

 

“If we’re plotting a revenge, I need to have a clear head and right now, there are other priorities in my mind.”

 

“Such as?”

 

“Like kissing you until you forget your name.” 

 

She’s blushing, but the rest of her features light up with the challenge, especially her arched eyebrow. “I’ll have you know that my memory is impeccable.”

  
“I guess I’ll just have to do my best, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little epilogue to go :)


	3. Chapter 3

Poe has never considered himself a prude, not by any chance, but he swears that if he finds Rey and Ben in a compromising position again, he’s moving out of the apartment. He’s totally on board with them being together—and thank goodness for that, because he was starting to believe that the sexual tension those two shared, if left unchecked for a second longer, was going to become weaponizable—but the truth is he would be grateful if they could keep their hands off the other for more than three minutes. And the  _ noises _ …Poe is seriously concerned he’s becoming a middle-aged catholic nun, and the sounds provoked by his friends’ nocturnal activities are destroying his sleeping schedule and the bags under his eyes are enough telltale of such fact.

 

On top of that, his phone hasn’t stopped ringing these days, mostly at night, as if he hadn’t had enough with the other  _ interruptions _ . He usually ignores the calls from unknown numbers, but as the voicemails started to pile up, he decided to do something about it.

 

That brings him here, to this precise moment, to him sitting in the kitchen nursing his fifth cup of coffee since breakfast and listening a message from a burly male voice that claims he’d love to Poe to tie him up and make him his little bitch. And yes, that’s a direct quote.

The fear is real in his eyes when he looks at the display of his phone and sees there are forty seven more messages.  _ Nope, nope, nope _ .

 

He’s getting the distinct urge to stare at the heavens and scream  _ ‘what the actual fuck,’ _ when the front door opens and the couple enters the living room. Rey is dragging Ben by the hand, who can clearly not even feign hurt properly. The guy is a crappy liar, Poe knows. He has played poker with him.

 

Rey beams at her boyfriend and erases that grouchy expression with a kiss that would shame the french community.

 

Poe clears his throat after seeing they aren’t planning to stop anytime soon and they pull apart, completely unabashed at being caught sucking face in front of him in the most literal sense of the expression.

 

“Hey, buddy,” Ben says, shedding his coat. “What’s up?”

 

_ Something in your pants _ , Poe would love to answer and put him in evidence, but since he dreads it could backfire, he goes with another route. “Nothing much…” Because, really, can he explain the voicemail he just listened to? 

 

“You seem tired,” Rey chimes in while wandering through the kitchen, ready to quench her thirst with a coffee.

 

Poe just grunts with his lips perched on the rim of his cup. His phone beeps and he can already feel his stomach dropping to the floor. In a spurt of luck, he sees it’s a text from Finn and he can’t help sighing in relief.

 

_ Look what I just found on one of the boards of the Physics Department _ , it says and there’s a picture to go with.

 

The image is a photo of a pink flyer that has clearly been pinned to a corkboard. The paper has bits missing from the bottom, evidently hand ripped, where the contact number is supposed to go. Only one remains and turning his head to the side to get a better view, he realizes it’s his phone number. He feels like he’s doing an impromptu ice bucket challenge, the trepidation running wild through his spine.

 

_ What are your darkest fantasies? I’m dying to know.  _

_ Call me and tell me. Maybe we can even make them true. _

 

The bottom line is a continuous thread of winky-eyed emojis.

 

“Motherf…”

 

“What…” Ben says, standing behind him to get a look of what’s making Poe seem paler than a ghost.

 

“Oh. My. God.”

 

And that’s Rey’s voice muffled from behind the hand currently covering her mouth.

 

She is the one that starts giggling and Ben follows. They’re laughing to their heart's content, but Poe doesn’t take it harshly since he supposes that if he wasn’t the affected party, he would laugh too; that is until he sees them high-five like they were two kindergarten kids. That’s when Poe gets it. 

 

“You did this,” he says, and his eyes narrow with the accusation.

 

“It’s just a joke, Poe,” Rey says, a reconciling smile on her lips.

 

“I have forty seven voicemails that claim otherwise, Peanut, and if I have to listen to another dude asking to be dominated—”

 

Another bout of uncontrollable laughter erupts from the pair in front of him and he throws a kitchen rag towards Ben’s head. Rey, always a quick thinker, takes her boyfriend’s hand and breaks into a run for Ben’s bedroom.

 

Poe tries to reach them, but the door is locked and he can still hear the giggles.  _ Children _ , both of them.

 

He returns to the kitchen, defeated for now. He tries to come up with an idea for a small vendetta, but he’s too bummed to even think properly.  _ At least they stopped laughing _ , he ponders after a while, resigned to accept the fate these two jerks have set before him. But his comfort lasts for practically five seconds before he hears a loud moan and,  _ goddammit _ , he’s moving in with Finn as soon as possible. After he takes all those flyers down, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did while writing it!


End file.
